


He Needs to Eat His Greens

by snowspy



Category: Kasabian
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowspy/pseuds/snowspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serge is sick, Tom is taking care of him.</p><p>Based on this <a href="http://sheromanceseverybody.tumblr.com/post/97464067495">gifset</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Needs to Eat His Greens

It is well known among the band members and the rest of the crew that there are very few things that Serge would not do for Tom. Write songs for Tom. Sing songs for Tom. Do cheesy photoshoots for Tom. Kiss a supposedly broken wrist for Tom. Wear a fox tail on stage for Tom. (Plus quite very possibly other requests of less innocent nature that the crew would prefer not to think about.)  
  
But there is one thing that even Tom has difficulty to do. Make Serge eat his greens. Well, make Serge eat in general, actually. No wonder the man is becoming more and more like a twig (a stunning mind-blowing twig, mind you). And it gets infinitely worse when Serge is ill. Like he is tonight.  
  
"Aaaaaaaaa~ Flight incoming!" That’s Tom making helicopter noises and floating a spoonful of vegetable soup in the direction of Serge’s mouth.  
  
Serge, only a quarter sitting up and mostly buried under a thick blanket, only stares back with an unamused and quite sickly face. “I’m not five, Tom.”  
  
"I knooow, but it’s fun! It probably worked when we were five ‘cos it was fun. So why not do it now?" Tom half-whines half-persuades cheerfully.  
  
"I’m pretty sure I didn’t do that even when I was five."  
  
"You must’ve been such a grumpy five-year-old."  
  
Serge continues to look unamused. Tom finally settles down the spoon and turns the cogs in his brain in search of other ways. One has to be creative when trying to feed vegetables to Serge. Sometimes Tom has to chop the veggies real tiny into the food so Serge can’t really taste them. Some other times Tom pretends to sulk until Serge gives up with an adorably guilty face and starts stuffing leaves to his mouth. Several times Tom even resorts to promising Serge some very, very naughty gifts in the bedroom (ones that would make his dear old granny mutter the Good Lord’s name and making a cross sign if she ever found out). Unfortunately none of his usual tricks work in this situation, since Serge gets extraordinarily obstinate when his nose is runny and throat itchy.  
  
"Okay, why don’t I make you a different soup? Corn soup, how about that? You like that, yeah?"  
  
"Only if you put very little corn and lots of sausages in it." Half of Serge’s mouth mumbles from behind the blanket.  
  
"I keep telling you, that’s not a corn soup, Serge! That’s a sausage soup!"  
  
Serge pouts. “It’s still a corn soup, it has corns.”  
  
"The last time you had one, it literally had only five kernels of corn in it."  
  
"Still corn." Replied Serge, refusing to lose. Tom starts to think high internal temperature alters his friend’s brain chemistry and turns his normally pragmatic self to a frustratingly bullheaded one.  
  
"What about some juice then? A tomato juice, nice and fresh?" Tom puts on a happy excited expression, hoping that will somehow get Serge excited too. It usually works like a charm.  
  
"Only if you put vodka in it." He whines like petulant kid.  
  
"For fuck’s sake, Serge, I’m trying to make you better by feeding you proper healthy food, not serve you a Bloody Mary!"  
  
Serge pouts even more and sinks even deeper into the thick duvet. Tom actually feels a bit guilty for yelling at his friend who by now is looking so sad. Brown curls sticking out in every earthly direction, face drained off colour and paler than his own wrinkled bedsheet, puppy-dog eyes staring at Tom between stray fringe. Pouting lips that look even distractingly pinker than usual.  
  
"Okay, what do you want then? I’ll get you whatever you want to eat." Tom forcefully pulls his eyes away from said lips. He’s decided it’s time to give in. Partly because Serge needs to eat something. Partly because he’s feeling bad for getting a bit pissed at Serge. And partly because he’s not confident he could fight those rosy pair of flesh for much longer.  
  
"Sausage soup." Serge demands. Only this time, Tom doesn’t seem to be paying attention, his expression blank and idiotic, as if his mind is somewhere else.  
  
"Tom. Sausage soup." Serge repeats a bit louder when he sees Tom not responding.  
  
"What? Right." Tom shakes his head, snapping back to the present and trying to concentrate on Serge’s words. "Sorry, I was…" He trails off. He was (still is) getting distracted by Serge’s previously-mentioned, insanely, invitingly pink lips. At this inappropriate time, all he can think of is how they would taste, even though he’s certainly not unfamiliar with them.  _Very not unfamiliar_ , Tom thinks as the many memories of them snogging each other senseless start to flash in his mind. “Ahem, sorry. I was……” He can’t stop himself. This time he leans forward and press his lips against Serge’s soft silky warm and definitely pink ones.  
  
"…Distracted." Finishes Tom after they break apart.  
  
Serge blinks a couple of times, befuddled for a second. “Okay give me that.” He grabs the bowl of almost-cold soup from Tom and starts eating.  
  
Tom chuckles. If only he knew it was that easy.


End file.
